


idk what to call this just take it

by 1800ratbaby (drow3n)



Category: Subway Surfers
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Female Reader, Grapefruit, I Was High When I Wrote This, Lemon, Not Beta Read, OOC, Reader Insert, Smut, Stalking, dubcon, everyone is an adult in this, is this even in character, lowkey, please dont have sex in the subway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25719799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drow3n/pseuds/1800ratbaby
Summary: After getting the nasty feeling of being followed, you stayed inside for a week. Finally working up the courage to go out and tag your usual spot, you realize your paranoia is a little more real than you thought.
Relationships: Frank/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63





	idk what to call this just take it

**Author's Note:**

> dhmu this is so fucking funny

It started as a gut feeling. Maybe you’d get that brief, but heart stopping feeling, of being watched. The hairs on the back of your neck would stand up for a split second while you tagged a derelict subway car. Or, the time your wallet went missing when you stopped to tie your shoes while skating, only to find it exactly where you left it. Things got progressively weirder. Just last week, you noticed a man at the trainyard. It was out of the corner of your eye and you swore up and down it was nothing. It could have been anyone, you told yourself, tons of kids come to the trainyard all the time. Any one of them could’ve been the suit-wearing, briefcase-toting, rabbit-mask-bearing, adult man you saw at the trainyard last saturday. You’re beginning to think yourself delusional. 

None of your friends believed you. Jake called you crazy, Tricky tried to reason with you the same way you did yourself. Hell, Yutani asked if there was lead in your water. 

You stayed away from the trainyard all week, until you felt like you were either done hallucinating or your would-be stalker got bored of waiting around. You stuffed a can of spray paint in your bag and slung it over your shoulder, grabbing your board on the way out the door. Finding the ratchet in your bag was tough work, considering your general disorganized-ness in your paranoid haze this past week. You sat on the curb by your mailbox and loosened your wheels. And waited. Mostly, you waited for a text from one of your friends or someone to skate past, anyone to show any proof of actually existing. Yet, nothing. Eventually, you stood up, tossing the board on to the heating asphalt and jumping on. 

Without thinking, you arrived at the trainyard. And, before you could even think to leave, you were crawling under a hole in the chain link fence. The sun was starting to set, the sky just beginning to fade into pinks and purples. Too bright for your headlamp, too dark for you to be out and still feel safe, even at your little-known safe haven.

The smell of spray paint was still wet and fresh, Jake must’ve just left. Probably chased out by the guard. You took your time setting up, hanging your board off an indent in the wall and tossing your bag in front of a newly cleaned train car. You heard rustling behind you and it took everything in your power not to search the area for the rabbit-masked “hallucination”. Headlamp on, as it was really starting to get dark now, you started spray painting the car. It was easy, you had perfected your tag long ago and shoplifted more than enough spray paint in your favorite colors. Plus, it was fun to watch Jake freak out that someone had covered his tag. He never paid enough attention to notice that it was your tag. It’s a wonder he graduated.

You tagged for a good two hours before the rustling stopped you again. The calming experience that was illegal vandalism of government property distracted you long enough for your boldness to grow enough to check out the sound. Spray can on the ground, you turned to the bushes. 

Before you could even take a step, a man in a suit and rabbit mask rises. A leaf laid on his shoulder, which he swiped off with gracious ease. You were completely awestruck. The glow of your headlamp illuminated the mask and the red eyes staring at you. You were completely frozen. He, however, was not. In a swift movement, as graceful as something out of a dream. A shrug that turned into a stride forward. His hands moved in a well-verse movement, grabbing and locking your wrist behind your back. Your feet practically drag through the gravel as he pulls you behind a train car, pushed against a wall. He kept you facing away from him, even though you were too in shock oto react yet. Things made sense when you heard the security guard pass. He kept you from getting caught by pushing you up against a wall and keeping your wrists securely behind your back. The way you were pushed left your collar bone scraping against the cinderblock tunnels of the subway in your town, your hips pressed against his.

You were positive the security guard finished his rounds just now, even thought you heard his car pull out of the lot. Yet, the masked man kept you pressed against him in the tunnel. You swear you could feel an odd bulge under the layers of cloth, a bulge that continued to grow. He paid you no mind, staring absently at your back while consumed in though. Not that you could tell through the mask.

Experimentally, you wriggled under his grasp. He looks up quickly, gloved hand gripping your wrists tighter, free hand pressing itself into the bone of your hip. It hurt like hell, you cringed in pain under the grip on the soft part of your hip; not to mention the leather of his glove beginning to burn into your wrists. Your wriggling ceased.

He wasn’t done though and he certainly didn’t let you out from your shared hiding spot. The masked man pushed you further against the wall, your shirt being the only thing keeping the skin on your chest from breaking. You couldn’t look back, eyes kept closed to focus on literally anything but the cold cinder against your chest, but you felt his hand leave your hip and fumble behind you. 

The whir of events next were hardly coherent. After the man’s fumbling, you felt him reach around the pull at the button and zipper on your paint-stained pants. Your pants were swiftly pulled to your knees. Things kept happening and you were completely letting it. Enjoying it, even! The man, who’s name you didn’t even know and that made you feel like shit, palmed at the warmth between your legs, causing a sweet, wet spot to form in your panties. You bit your lip to hold back a curt groan of pleasure, bucking your hips lightly into his hand. When his hand was replaced by the cool air of the evening, you thought you might cry. Instead, your underwear was pulled to meet the waistband of your pants at your knees.

You were hardly given a moment's notice when he rammed into your pussy. His hand returned to its first spot on your hip, the slightly damp leather making contact with your flushed skin. You’ll admit to some pain, he was definitely well endowed. With each pump into your crotch, you were pressed further into the wall. The rhythm was faster than anything you’ve ever experienced before. A cruel grunt escaped his mouth, just barely muffled by the mask which he refuses to take off. His hand left your wrists and grabbed at your other hip, pulling you all the way to the hilt of his cock and keeping you there for a moment. With a new found freedom and bruised wrists, one hand steadied yourself on the wall, the other subconsciously went down to touch yourself. He allowed you to continue, pushing yourself closer and closer to the edge of bliss while he starts fucking you again.

Inside you, you felt him begin to twitch, which is a thought you never wanted to have to think. Despite your disgust at even thinking about milking him dry, you don’t stop, nor do you slow down as his thrusts grow more and more erratic. Just before he bursts, you cum, a throaty moan released as your knees buckle from under you and your hand slides down the concrete wall. You gain your bearings back quickly, using your hands to push yourself firmly down his shaft, greedily feeling him fill you up. 

Once he finished and was sure you were full, he fingered you, just to rub salt in the wound. The salt being that fact that you not only let him cum inside you but also the fact that you enjoyed it; the wound being that you fucked a masked man in a subway tunnel. As if to fill the hole his cock left in your cervix, he slides in two gloved fingers and curls. You shake and shiver around his fingers, knees buckled again and almost immediately came; you were still far too sensitive. Seemingly satisfied with nearly killing you from the edging, you’re left with that hole again.

His next movements are slow, pulling your underwear and pants back up to their places around your hips. He helps you stand, rather forcibly on his part but you shouldn’t complain. And, before you can turn to gleam any sense of what just happened and face him at all, he pats you on the back and picks up a briefcase you hadn’t even noticed before. Then, he leaves, making the same rustling sounds he arrived with. 

You’re definitely going to have a hard time retelling this story.


End file.
